Return to Riverrun
by GhostRelic
Summary: Very much an AU where Jaime has been traded for Sansa… but nothing can be that simple.


**A response to a prompt found in my Tumblr inbox.**

_From Anonymous: you should write a tywin x sansa story/oneshot if jaime brought her back to her mother. or if the starks won. :)_

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The inland journey from King's Landing to Riverrun did not take more than two turns of the moon to complete, no matter the size of the host. Though, if that host is Lannister lead and is delivering the Stark daughter once held captive by a king, it could easily be said that the journey would purposefully take a year.

But here they were, four moons later, ten thousand men strong, camped in fields beyond the castle walls - turning lush green into crimson and gold - waiting in what looked to be a ridiculous, casual siege.

"_No_…" Lady Catelyn breathed a subtle outrage. "No, I refuse to agree to this."

Standing in the lord's solar, delayed from seeing the child she'd worried for, wept for, and ached to see again, Catelyn Stark trembled with the kind of rage that had been known to lead to madness.

Jaime grinned a little wider; his time as their captive still evident on his face and in his mannerisms, but his abhorrent pretension seemed hardly to have suffered.

"That is why this is a matter to be determined by your son, not you."

His words did not deter Lady Catelyn; she was feral in her fury, "He cannot have her!"

Ser Jaime simply looked at her, blinked slow with a smugness sure to lend to the woman's hysterics, but instead of rebuffing her, he turned to Robb Stark and continued as though she wasn't even there.

"Your sister is who my father wants - even _you_ can't tell me the terms are not balanced in your favour."

But there was no reassurance in the young king; only a creeping flush to signify the precarious grasp he had on his own rage.

"In my _favour_?! Your king killed my father!"

"King Joffrey executed a confessed traitor to the crown," he drawled, bored and unconcerned. "Tell me, my lord, what is it _you _do with those who've admitted treason?"

"_Your Grace_," hissed Catelyn in correction of the lion, in defense of her king.

"As _you_ say." Jaime's smirk, much like his inhibition, was a perfection of his arrogance.

Robb pressed on, no less angry. "And Arya? Where's my youngest sister - the one you swore to have?!"

"Perhaps she's in the care of the Northerners who scattered when they were told to yield. Perhaps she's in Winterfell. Perhaps she gathered feathers and assembled wings - who knows? I certainly don't. As you may recall I was… not in the care of _that_ particular king to garner those answers."

"And where does he believe this would occur?" Robb seethed, "King's Landing? The West? I am no fool, Ser."

"Would you prefer it held in the North? Certainly my father can win it back for you first." Jaime tilted his head in a childish way of superiority. "No, Lord Tywin is _here_." He looked around the room, pointedly unimpressed. "Surely this... _castle_ can host a wedding?"

"Now?" The information was unexpected; the knowledge that the man intending to steal his sister was sitting just outside the gates was infuriatingly tempting.

"Oh yes, _now_. Hence the terms, hence half the Westerlands sitting patiently in bogs for your word."

Robb looked hostile and wary, the same emotions he had expressed toward everything that played out in the past twelve hours. What was supposed to be a welcoming of his sister had twisted into yet another negotiation, another political retaliation - this one with the potential to give him what he was fighting for.

"Why _her_? _Why_ does he want Sansa?"

Jaime shrugged, his words uncouth, "She looks to be of passable breeding stock."

The tension in the room went from uncomfortable to stifling, and even through his ego as a Lannister, Jaime knew he'd overstepped unspoken bounds, though it was not fear of anyone in his current company that prompted his turn of attitude.

"I don't know. I honestly don't." He shook his head slightly at his own thoughts. "He's held no interest in this regard for three decades… I return to him and he informs me he wishes to wed." By his own right, Jaime looked out of sorts with a certain and definite conflict warring inside him.

King Robb allowed him no time for introspection.

"Why isn't _he_ in here negotiating?"

Jaime's ego returned with a vengeance. "I believe it's because we've already become friends, you and I..."

His bright toothy smile melted into seriousness - and _that_ was disconcerting on a man like Jaime Lannister. "If my father steps foot inside this castle, it will be because you've agreed to his terms... or because you haven't."

"That's hardly a concealed threat, Kingslayer."

"It's hardly a lie, either." Jaime stood then, waiting for neither permission nor dismissal. "The choice is yours alone, Lord Stark. Agree to the terms, go home and be king of all that's frozen, or don't and war on." He turned on his heel and continued, "I will go to my host and await your decision."

It was just as the golden knight reached the doors of Riverrun's master solar that he stopped abruptly and addressed Robb Stark again. This time there was no smirk, or humour, or arrogant air to his words. If the task of character decryption were laid at the mercy of a learned man, he would say that Jaime Lannister spoke with equal parts warning and regret.

"The Warden of the West offers congratulations to you and _your_ new bride."

With that Ser Jaime left. In his wake were three people, each contemplating contingencies.

It was Lady Catelyn who voiced hers first.

"Robb, you can't consider this an option."

There was nothing in the King save a tired soul. One that had been thrashed about and beaten; one that had lived almost exclusively on bitterness and revenge.

"I have to, Mother. This isn't about you, nor is it about Sansa. It is about the welfare of the North."

"Robb-"

He was so tired, but he would never show his agitation to his lady mother. For so long she was all he had.

"Leave, mother. Go see to Sansa," he said gently.

There was a flicker of fight in her, but Catelyn knew her son better than anyone; she knew he needed time to work through his thoughts, to take them apart and reassemble them - only then would he call for her.

She rose and leaned close, hugging her boy into her warmth, kissing his thick auburn curls; she smiled at his half-hearted growl of displeasure.

The door to the solar closed a second time, and with the sound came movement from near the hearth. Ser Brynden, taking his cue to stand closer to his King, waited for the boy to address him - or to merely start talking.

"This does not change the fact that the North wants revenge for the killing of its Lord." Robb wasn't necessarily focused on the man at his side, but he held off to wait for him nonetheless.

"No, it doesn't - not yet at least."

The King looked to the man whom he trusted for his opinions which were always open, honest and unfalteringly loyal.

"Sansa is young. Tywin Lannister is not," Brynden continued. "His eldest son cannot sit as Lord of Casterly Rock, and the old lion would knock the castle into the sea before allowing the Imp that title. Though, if Sansa bore him an heir…"

"...he would title _that _child instead." Robb finished.

"Your Grace, they have given you the North with the potential to influence the future of the West. At the very least, it would create a strong alliance."

"To what end? A new kingdom in the North, yes, but would Sansa even survive _the man_ to bear him children?"

Both sets of Tully blue were steady and unflinching.

"That is why this matter is left to the decision of a _king_, not a brother."

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Both mother and daughter sat in the large room that served as Lady Catelyn's bower, perched on a wide sill, looking out over the castles walls to the Lannister host just beyond.

Their tears were dried, but they each wore their red eyes proudly, smiling. There hadn't been many words, but hugs and endearments abounded between the women. And now they sat in a comfortable quiet, purely content simply to be in one another's presence, after so long apart.

The setting sun had started to stain the sky when Catelyn felt her breath became heavy in her lungs. She could not withhold her news any longer. Sansa would have to know there was a strong possibility that she would once again be betrothed - and to whom.

"Lord Tywin Lannister has sent word…" she started, waiting for Sansa to respond in order to frame her next words. She showed no outward signs of reluctance, only a calm kind of strength that stemmed from the girl's silence.

The silence was new, and so out of character with the little girl that she loved so much who had left Winterfell, it made Catelyn's speech awkward and blunt.

"Marriage… He wants to marry you, Sansa."

Her only response was a light blush that bathed her neck and a slight deepening of her breath. Sansa was forcing that same cool stoicism to stay in the forefront.

"Will King Robb agree?" she finally asked, her eyes all the more intense, her tone all the more composed.

"I… I don't know, Sansa."

It was the truth, and her daughter was owed that much.

"Will I meet with Lord Tywin?"

Of course she would want to meet her betrothed. Though this one was golden too, he was nothing of a boy, and everything of a villain.

"If you go to him, no matter how close to us he's camped, he has you. The leverage will be his to wield, and he could marry you without Robb's knowledge or consent. Even here on neutral ground, Tywin Lannister will consider the investment of his time a debt to be paid. Write to him if you feel you must, but as soon as you are within his reach you are out of ours."

Sansa tipped up her chin minutely. "He let me go once before, to come to you."

"He didn't, Sansa," Catelyn advised, her demeanour cautious. "King Joffrey sealed the terms-"

"No, mother, Joff _did not_. It was Lord Tywin."

"Did he tell you this?"

Her daughter hesitated before murmuring quietly, "I was there."

Sansa watched her mother become blanketed in cold, stiffening and shivering despite the fire in the hearth.

"Did you agree... to this? _Sansa_…" Catelyn shifted in her seat, the dread that took her made her skin crawl. She moved closer to her daughter and absently grabbed at her hands - at a complete and desperate loss. "Sansa, please tell me - did he... already…"

There was so much despair and confusion in her mother, Sansa fought to understand - her only recourse was truth and it made her eyes burn with tears.

"I told him _yes_," Sansa's throat clenched at the words, at how they made her mother's eyes water just like hers.

"I told him if it stopped the war and let you and Robb go home, that I would marry him." It was said as no more than a whisper.

As Sansa confessed, Catelyn's eyes closed to push out the tears that marked her sorrow and her guilt.

"But Lord Tywin said I could only agree - that only Robb could truly decide."

Catelyn clung and tugged at the fingers held in her own, trying to pull Sansa away from the sense of martyrdom that was surely striving to overtake her.

"This isn't something you want, child. This is _not_ something Robb will ask of you."

"Will it end the war, like he said? If I marry him, will you get to go back to Winterfell and will Robb be King in the North?"

"Sansa…"

"_Tell me_!"

This girl was not the same smiling daughter she had sent south. This girl was hardly a girl at all. The numbers of years she lived counted for nothing compared to the amount of life Catelyn could read in Sansa's eyes.

Raising her own eyes to meet Sansa's, Lady Catelyn spoke detached, but truthfully.

"Yes. If Lord Tywin takes you to wife, the North will be free to maintain Robb as its king - we would go home." She let her words find recognition before continuing. "But you would not, Sansa. You would _not_ go home. You would become Lady of Casterly Rock, the Hand's wife, and your home would be where your husband deems it - it would not be with us. You would never be-"

"_Cat_."

The deep voice of Ser Brynden cleaved through the hurtful words he knew were coming. A true Tully trait, _guilt_ should have also made their house words. Each and every one of them knew perfectly well how to force even the most sensible conversation into the mire of blame.

He would not permit her to do it. Not to her daughter, not with a situation so delicate.

"King Robb requires your presence." He nodded to her as if to say there was no other choice in the matter.

Brynden Tully held out one arm and pulled his niece into a hug as she passed him to leave the room; it was more a reassurance than a show of affection. He then moved to sit with the girl who was a spitting image of his Cat. A girl who looked so much like him, there was an inherent pang of regret that he had never met her before today.

She smiled politely as he took the seat left by her mother, but offered no introduction - no courtesy at all. She wasn't afraid, he could see that plainly, it was more like she was determining whether or not he would want such a thing - he never cared for empty platitudes.

The Blackfish widened his eyes at her and laughed, authentic and amused. She was reading him. Whatever her strife in King's Landing, she had not walked away without learning - whether it was auspicious learning, remained to be seen.

"Your mother told you of Lord Tywin, it seems. Of what he is asking."

His course was considerate, and it earned him another tiny smile from her along with a nod of confirmation.

After a while, regarding the scene outside their window, Sansa volunteered a softly spoken question.

"Do you know him, Ser?"

There was no confusion to whom she was referring.

"No, I know _of_ him, child," he said kindly. Though, as he talked further, his honesty seemed to repudiate his words. "I know he is powerful, wealthy, and ruthless. I know he cares nothing for lives and would just as soon slit a throat than pay a compliment."

Sansa was outwardly unmoved.

"He had a wife, before. Queen Cersei told me she died."

Her facade wavered at the mention of the Queen Regent, and the Blackfish thought it odd to have happened then and not at the name of the man she may find herself married to.

"I've heard tale that he loved Lady Joanna more than gold," Brynden almost sighed. "I've also heard his capacity to feel anything more than hatred bled out with her."

The curious girl looked squarely at him then.

"He asked me," she offered boldly. "He dismissed everyone from the throne room, _even the King_, and he _asked_ me if I would want to be his wife. By mother's own admission, he could have forced me - not bothered to ask Robb at all."

He nodded in support, wondering what it was costing her to recount anything of what happened during her seclusion with the enemy. But he simply could not let her believe half truths and only one side of an opinion.

"Don't think it chivalrous that he sent you here. He has given your brother a living reminder of what it is he could lose. Make no mistake, Sansa, this," he gestured the fact she was sitting there before him, "has more calculation than anything seen on a battlefield."

She flicked her view once again to the sea of crimson beyond the curtain wall.

The responsibility should have been far too much to place on her conscience, yet her eyes were not drawn, her face revealed nothing of being crushed beneath such weight - Brynden could see that clearly. And with everyone else sealing the fate and judging the future of the girl, he dared ask what he had yet to hear uttered.

"What do _you _want, Sansa?"

Sansa never looked away from the window, her intonation remained calm, if not a little distant.

"I want my father back. My brothers and Arya."

Ser Brynden looked down and smiled sadly at the words of a young girl struggling against an incredibly adult plight.

"You know that can't happen," he lowered his tone, "But they can be avenged."

She turned slightly to see him fully, there was no hint of childish struggle in her next words - and it devastated him.

"Can you promise that my mother and Robb won't die too? You? Lord Edmure?"

"No. I can't."

Her pause was but a moment; her quiet sentiment appeared to resonate for an age, "What I _want_ is for no one else to die."

Brynden's breath caught as he exhaled; her passionate declaration sounded so much like Cat. But it was when Sansa dropped her eyes to where her hands were tightly balled together on her lap that the Blackfish felt a rush of agony for the sacrifice this girl was proposing.

_Guilt_. And he knew himself a fucking coward for using it.

"You will be giving up an awful lot, Sansa. Namely your family."

She returned her gaze to the man with the gentle voice, with the same eyes as her mother; her own looked every bit as weary.

_She_ was every bit as weary.

"I would rather that, than have anymore taken from me."

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In the darkest part of the sept, in the earliest part of the morning is where and when Catelyn found Sansa; huddled in shadows and most decisively not alone.

Jeyne had said the bride abruptly left her chambers just after waking; not wanting to eat, not wanting to converse. The Queen was genuinely concerned, which altered Catelyn's own discomfort to apprehension, and led her to seek her daughter herself - in the one place she knew to find her.

A deep murmur rumbled from within the shadow, that of a man, and for a horrible moment Lady Catelyn thought the worst - and immediately resolved to bury whatever secret her daughter had kept from Lord Lannister. She stayed quiet, hidden amongst the gods, slowly rounding a pillar until she could just barely see Sansa.

Her daughter was peering up at the company she kept; the look she wore was not one of fear - not truly - but there was certainly worry painted on her pretty face. Knowing the type of man her soon-to-be husband was, Catelyn granted the demeanour was justified under the circumstances.

Though when she leaned herself a tiny bit further around the column, she second guessed whether Sansa was merely too petrified to show actual fear.

Bent toward the bride was the Great Lion himself. His face was stern - brows bent low, a scowl firmly in place, and his eyes set almost cold. But his voice proved the contradiction; even though it rumbled in seriousness, it held nothing of reproach.

"...you are established. When the North is stable and the war is well enough in the past, I will take you there myself."

Sansa did not smile; however, her countenance became less clouded - like a burden had been pushed aside - and her voice intoned something akin to youthful petulance.

"Promise?"

Tywin lowered his face closer to hers; it looked as though the darkness that lifted from Sansa transposed itself onto him.

"I'll not tolerate your stupidity," he sneered, sounding at the cusp of fury - to which the girl in front of him shrunk back slightly.

Catelyn readied to step out and intervene in whatever intimidation Lord Tywin was building to. She had acquiesced to the marriage; she was coming to terms with the match, but she would not for one moment entertain _any man_ - lord or not, husband or not - aiming to harm her child. Sansa had lived through enough pain, enough torture, it would _not_ happen in the confines of her marriage.

Her mind frothed at the notion, _war be damned! _

But as she set to walk forth and make her presence known, it was Sansa who acted first.

When she raised her arm, Catelyn held back; all at once half expecting and yet not believing her daughter would strike anyone - let alone Tywin Lannister. However, it had been moons that she had been exposed to the cruelty of the King and his guards, and the mother in her knew Sansa changed fundamentally in that time.

That she would think to act in violence at all, was a reality Catelyn felt as a wave in equal parts grief and anger.

Catelyn's body tensed in anticipation for the blow - in anticipation of accepting whatever punishment was to be given, on behalf of her child - but the percussion of assault never rang. Instead, she watched in even more horror as her daughter reached higher and made to touch the man. From her perspective she could just see Sansa lay a hand on Lord Tywin's face.

One could only assume that it was likely better to strike that particular lord than to paw at him.

It took a moment before Lady Catelyn could discern clearly that Sansa was not petting, but in fact using the pads of her fingers to gently smooth along the ridge of Tywin's furrowed brow. Starting in the middle and sliding carefully outward, first one side then the next.

The intimacy took her off guard, choked her with the lump it made in her throat - it was the very thing she would do to Ned in order to ease his troubles. No matter where they stood, if his natural look of concern crossed the threshold to distress, she would stand before him and sweep a light caress over the lines that deepened in worry.

In Lord Tywin's case, it was the raising of his ire that prompted Sansa to offer the same repose she had seen her mother give her father.

Her mother who stood astonished at watching such a tiny, calming gesture soothe a man notorious for his callous nature.

Even in profile, Lord Tywin's face could easily be seen to relax. The creases beside his mouth were completely gone as his scowl retreated, and his mouth was held at a line, not a frown. The chords once tense in his neck sunk to what appeared to be more comfortable positions. But it was the fact that he closed his eyes and let a girl who was nothing more than a stranger administer kindness, that was the greater jolt.

And what was more brutal: unfiltered realization.

Though the gesture was sweet, and the reaction unexpected to say the least, Catelyn recognized familiarity. It hurt her that there was something to them; it tore at her that there was an understanding between them, and it all but destroyed her that they were so much more than what her daughter had disclosed.

Sansa kept sweeping lightly across Tywin's brows, engrossed in her challenge, not satisfied until the tension was gone. With a grin she only indulged in when his eyes were closed, the little wolf altered her path from his brow and slowly trailed the tip of one finger down the bridge of his nose.

His eyes snapped open after only a moment, her smirk already safely tucked away.

"Leave it."

He swatted her hand away with barely the touch of two fingers and snarled the words with hardly the effort to growl.

If it wasn't Tywin Lannister acting in the context of her daughter, Catelyn would be smiling in amusement. No, instead she stood rapt at what could only be an outright nightmare.

"When Winterfell is safe and your family is settled," he reiterated, far softer than he had previously. "I will take you north and you will see them."

Sansa's mouth struggled not to smile at his version of a promise - he did not like frivolity, she knew.

She opted for courtesy. "Thank you, my lord."

He stood to full height; his eyes remained solely on her. "Go. Prepare for the day, my lady." Again his tone with Sansa was serious, but gentle at the same time.

The lion stirred a fraction, blocking from Catelyn's view whatever final exchange there was. When he moved back after only heartbeats, Sansa's eyes were brighter, and she was nodding happily at what he'd said… or what he'd done.

A sharp nod of his own acted as a silent dismissal, something Sansa intrinsically knew as well, and he watched his bride walk away from him, looking almost appreciative.

At length, he spoke coolly. "She is well and gone, Lady Stark; cease lurking."

His head was still turned in the direction of Sansa's exit, causing Catelyn to startle at his address.

There were so many accusations she wanted to scream, so much vitriol she itched to inflict, but those were the impulses of Sansa's mother. On the other hand, Lady Stark remained calm as she walked into Lord Lannister's view and sought to flush the vermin from the underbrush.

"What kind of game are you playing, my lord?"

He did not answer, only looked down at Lady Catelyn - the physical act representing how he surely regarded her on the whole.

"Do I look like a man to play games, my lady?"

"No, my lord, you seem a man who would purchase whatever leverage was necessary to win a war."

He scoffed loud and harsh and left the noise to echo into nothing before he spoke again.

"Yes, you who struck war with the West for the sake of a knife and an assumption. Imagine what you'd do with a daughter who held an opinion that I'm not so much a bastard. Hypocrisy is unbecoming, Lady Stark."

His words were delivered so dryly, they were abrasive.

Catelyn narrowed her eyes, her tone equally pointed, "She is a child."

The words were meant to injure either pride or morality - and considering her audience, Catelyn could only hope for the former.

The scrutinizing stare of Lord Tywin was excruciating; his eyes did not wander nor was his gaze lewd. What he saw was for him alone, and the effect on her was profound.

He blinked slowly and pressed his lips together before he began speaking.

Very, very quietly, he said, "She is the child you traded for a castle and a title, and she _will_ be my wife."

Lady Catelyn closed her eyes then, shuddering at the venom that slithered over her. Conflicted against what she knew full well - they had sold her only remaining daughter, her second remaining child, to a monster - she opened her eyes, forcing herself to keep his stare.

"And if you hurt her, my lord," she said so very carefully, "I will cut down every man of title and burn down every castle in the West just to pay that debt."

Lord Tywin remained impassive; neither was he shocked nor bothered by her threat.

"I have no doubt you would at least try, my lady," he scoffed humourlessly.

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He did not move; he did not speak, nor did he seem at all nervous. Truth be told, Lord Tywin looked about as happy waiting in a sept to be wed as Catelyn Stark did waiting in that same sept to carve out a part of her heart by allowing Sansa to marry him.

The bride was beautiful, Catelyn knew without a doubt; she had helped prepare her after their morning interlude which had occurred not twelve paces away, not but hours before. The scowling groom was the point of her fixation now, attempting to glean intent from the man. More so to give her soul some peace, some affirmation that the tender moment she witnessed was not an act for her benefit, and that the merciless infamy of the man would not cause the remainder of her child's bright flame to dwindle into nothingness.

But the man stood static even as Lady Sansa walked toward him. The old lion watched with nothing short of disdain as King Robb removed her cloak and took his place beside his mother. Even as he draped his own around her shoulders, proclaiming her a Lannister, the task was performed with an uncaring efficiency.

Their angle changed to recite their vows and with it came what Catelyn was looking for. It was there as plain as day and simply required a small shift in perspective to see it.

Sansa was smiling.

It was not a childish smile, the kind that would earn her a sweet or a compliment, but the kind that one offers in knowing contentment.

The old lion did not smile in return; though, Catelyn saw the man visibly change. It was so subtle, the lines at the corners of his eyes became less prominent and his eyes themselves softened imperceptibly, that if she had not been looking directly at him, she would not have noticed at all.

And she thought that perhaps... _No_, her mind corrected, there was no _doubt_ in her reading of him. The Great Lion was at some emotional mercy, and Sansa was the keystone holding him there.

Whatever their history, whatever Sansa found in the man that she liked - it made her obviously happy. And as Catelyn swallowed hard against the sorrow of letting her daughter go just as she was remembering what it was like to have her, there was also a gust of settling gratification.

For there was sure footing to be found and safe ground to be gained by Sansa as a wife. And there was absolutely no question she would claim those things and more - even with a husband the likes of Tywin Lannister.

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** A huge thank you to my beta, content developer, researcher, sounding-board, and internet life-partner: dealbreaker19 **

_(Any mistakes are mine alone. I tend to fiddle and tweak - up to and after posting)_


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